Wednesdays are my psych days. I spend the morning building myself up for my 230p appointment. I leave my apartment about 130 or so to drive through Dallas bound traffic and make it to the medical building near Harry Hines. Drop my car off with valet parking. Pass the orange glass statue in the lobby and into the elevator with the pleasant female voice that announces the floor.
"Fifth floor. Going up."
I spend an hour there with Dr. Z. Always crying. Always.
Pay my fee. Head to bathroom to gather myself together. Back into the elevator.
"Fifth floor. Going down."
Lobby. Statue. Valet parking. Interstate home.
Tears in my eyes. Angry and disgusted with myself. Hopeless...
....Still so hopeless.
The rest of the night, I'm too exhausted to care about anyone.
I feel as if I've done battle with Goliath; and being the poor marksman that I imagine I would be, my pebbles are not well aimed.
It's tiring. I do want to give up. I told him that I'm probably going to give up on it. I always do on everything that I attempt. I'm so tired. Without change of pace, he calmly replied that we'd talk about that first.
I feel like everyone is expecting this to be over very soon. That I will be back to my "old self" that they like and are use to, despite my telling so many people that they haven't really witnessed me in my worst which I feel is my old self.
I'm lost and confused and things are only going to get worst. I'm not a good friend. I'm not a good mom. I'm not anything that I'm proud of right now....well, I'm never proud of myself. In the past, I've said that I've covered my wounds with band-aids to just make it through the day. And now, the flesh is being opened up. It's being exposed and cleaned out and it's a stinky rotting mess in here. It's not for the weak, so if you're bowing out....move the fuck on!
I don't know how long this mood is going to last. I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm feeling vulnerable. I'm feeling miserably short-changed. I'm angry and pissed and impatient. I'm preoccupied and selfish and mean. I'm sorry I'm not as sympathetic as I usually can be. I'm sorry that I'm not answering phonecalls. I'm sorry that I'm ugly to you. BUT at this moment I'm using all my energy to keep my shit together. I'm closer to suicide than I care to be and I'm looking for that grain of hope to keep me from doing it. Sometimes, I'm waiting for one of you to call me to save me (sad, isn't it?) And all the while, I'm trying to work and be productive and function with some degree of normalcy, when all I want to do is lay down on some uncomfortable cot in a padded room of some mental hospital. I want to escape.
Every Wednesday, I hate leaving my doctor's office at 330p. I dread hearing that my time is up and that I have a week before I can empty some more of my pain out. I just want to linger and sit in the confines of that small room on the fifth floor and just feel slightly better for a little bit longer.
